Of Fortune, Friendship, Fate, and Fish
by Rhianwen
Summary: In which a talk of poetic symbolism (eh?!) while fishing leads to something more for Amarant and Freya, and Steiner wins a bet. Please R&R!
1. Fortune and Fish

Of Fortune, Friendship, Fate, and Fish  
  
Summary: In which a talk of poetic symbolism while fishing leads to something more for Amarant and Freya, and Steiner wins a bet.  
  
Disclaimer: Heh...my previously forgotten disclaimer. I don't own them, and they don't like me. As with most of the people I write about, they wish I would just get a life and stop bloody well picking on them. They are, as far as I know, owned by Squaresoft. Thank-you.  
  
Notes: Wow! I'm uploading a whole, complete story all at once! [Checks her own forehead for fever] At the same time, though, many things have remained constant. In the grand tradition of my stories, this takes place at some point that I don't think existed in the universe. All I know is that it's intended to be before Memoria.  
  
Oh, yes. And I know next to nothing about fishing, so I'm kind of just putting in what sounds like it makes sense to me. I don't know if dried worms can be used as bait; I just assumed. I apologize if I have offended the delicate sensibilities of any great fishing gurus out there. :o)  
  
As always, flames can be sent to the_pyre42@hotmail.com, or can simply be left in the reviews. However, if your review contains a great deal of profanity, or any unnecessary comments about my sexual habits, or those of my mother, I would appreciate it if you sent them to me at my e-mail address.  
  
I love mail. [Giggles]  
  
And now, oooooooooooooooooooooon with the shooooooooooooooooow!!!  
  
  
  
  
  
Part One: Fortune and Fish  
  
  
  
It was late afternoon, that time of day when the sunlight turns pale and clear, almost as though it has lost all enthusiasm and energy, and is looking rather forward to turning in for the night, if the moon would just hurry the hell up and rise already. If the day is especially warm, the beating of this pale, yet intense heat down upon them can make people feel drowsily as though they might also rather like to turn in for the evening. This particular day was a very warm one, and Zidane Tribal was no exception to the common mindset of people.  
  
Yawning and stretching, he came to a stop.  
  
"Okay, guys," he announced, glancing around the small clearing and tossing his pack against a tree, "this looks like a good place to stop for the night."  
  
"But, Zidane, it isn't even dark yet! It won't be for a few hours yet," Dagger protested half-heartedly, glancing superritiously about the clearing. It was a cool, shady spot, about twelve or fourteen feet in diameter, and surrounded by spruces, pines, and birches on all sides. Nearby, the babbling of a small brook could be heard. 'It is a pretty place.'  
  
"We're stopping already? We could easily keep travelling a good two hours," Freya informed him dubiously, though lacking _very_ much enthusiasm.  
  
"Yeah, I know we could, but...nah," the young man grinned. "It's a perfect spot, and I think Eiko and Vivi are getting tired."  
  
"We are not!" the little girl declared petulantly, tossing her pack into the pile with the others, and then running to the small mage's aid as he collapsed atop the pile.  
  
"Come to think of it," Zidane continued, "we could all use the chance to relax a bit."  
  
"Relax!" scoffed Amarant, striding into the clearing and leaning against a tree, crossing his arms. "I've half a mind to just keep going."  
  
"I'm sure no one would mind if you did," Steiner assured him icily.  
  
"Hey, enough, okay, guys?" Zidane pleaded. "Let's not start any fights."  
  
"I was not the one starting a fight," the Knight of Pluto declared airily, crossing his arms.  
  
"Hmph!" Amarant replied eloquently, trying to cross his own, but finding them already crossed. He pouted. Or would have, had it been less glaringly out-of-character. Zidane shrugged.  
  
"Okay, sure. Anyway." The young thief was rustling through the group's packs. "Let's start handing out tasks. Dagger, you and I can get the fire going, okay?"  
  
"Alrighty," the dark-haired girl replied, stifling a yawn.  
  
"Vivi? Eiko? You two wanna go look for some berries?"  
  
"Sure!" Eiko chirped brightly, taking Vivi by the hand and tugging him from his less-than-comfortable repose on the pile of knapsacks.  
  
"We're low on our food supply. I'd like to save it for some time when there's nothing in the area to catch. There's plenty in this area. There's a pond not far from here - about quarter of a mile that way - where there are probably tons of fish. Amarant? Freya? You guys wanna go do that?"  
  
Amarant shrugged and stalked off. Freya, with an impatient sigh, jogged after him. Zidane raised an eyebrow. 'Hope that wasn't a mistake...' Aloud, he continued.  
  
"Steiner, Quina, you guys wanna set up our bed-rolls and tents?"  
  
"Okay, Zidane," Quina replied cheerfully. Steiner heaved a long sigh.  
  
"Of course. Come along, Quina. Let us get started."  
  
  
  
"Hey!" Freya called out to the red-haired man. "Wait!"  
  
With a sigh, Amarant came to a halt.  
  
"What?" he demanded impatiently, not turning around.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"To get fish. Where'd you think?"  
  
"...But isn't the pond that way?" she asked, pointing to the left.  
  
"We aren't going to the pond."  
  
"But I thought we were to be catching fish."  
  
"We are. No fish in that pond, at least none bigger than my finger. Can tell that by the location and depth."  
  
"...So, then, where are we going?"  
  
He pointed ahead, to where the trees thinned into a small stretch of flat grassland, which then dropped off sharply into a rocky decline leading down to an equally rocky shore. They walked on in silence until they reached the decline.  
  
"What are we using to fish with?"  
  
He glanced at her.  
  
"I found the fish. You make the fishing rods. That is, if you think you can do it decently."  
  
With that, he turned and darted down the hill. "Right," Freya murmured, starting toward a large tree on the edge of the nearby forest. She stopped beneath it, gazing up into the leafy canopy. 'Now, how does one go about choosing a branch for a fishing rod?' Spying a branch about five feet long and about the width of a carrot, she took hold of it and wrenched it from the tree. She repeated the process with another relatively suitable branch, and then took a spool of string from an inner pocket of her coat and wound a length deftly about the end of each branch four or five times. She chuckled; never let it be said that she could be caught unprepared. Picking up the makeshift fishing rods, she strode back to the decline to the shore. As she prepared to jump, a voice shouted up,  
  
"Hey, rat, what the hell's taking so long?"  
  
Rolling her eyes, she jumped from the top of the steep hill and landed lightly on the sand next to Amarant.  
  
"Here," she said, shoving one of the sticks at him. "Take your fishing rod."  
  
He eyed the stick warily.  
  
"Eh, I suppose it'll serve the purpose well enough," he commented finally.  
  
"If you've something to say about my craftsmanship, just say it!" she requested mock-tearfully. He sighed.  
  
"Sometimes I worry about you."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"No."  
  
"How touching."  
  
"Shut up and follow me."  
  
Shaking her head, she followed. The sandy beach ended abruptly. 'Oh, won't this be fun...' she thought, gazing warily at the widely-spread pile of boulders that jutted up from it.  
  
  
  
Five minutes later, she had discovered just how much fun this would not be. The gods must, she decided, have been in a very sadistic mood when laying out this rock bed. From up ahead, Amarant made an impatient noise.  
  
"You coming?"  
  
"Hold on!" she called back severely, warily testing a boulder with her foot to ensure its sturdiness. Finding it safe, she leapt to it and searched around for another nearby. "Scrambling about on a pile of rocks isn't exactly how I fill my days, and I would just as soon not break my neck by trying to step on the wrong one."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"If it weren't so closed in here - " She glared balefully at the jagged canopy of boulders above them, extending almost to the surface of the water in most places. " - I could just jump, clear all of them at once, but."  
  
"But if you tried to do that, you'd jump right into another rock, and I don't think that helmet of yours breaks rocks," Amarant finished with a chuckle. She halted and stared at him in mild surprise. 'I suppose the mental image of me leaping right up into a rock and falling back down again must be rather amusing.' As a ridiculously slapstick idea made itself apparent, she laughed in spite of herself. Amarant turned around, gazing at her quizzically.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing," she assured him, scrambling onto a different boulder and preparing to leap over to his. He stepped aside to give her room as she landed. Her foot hit a patch of still-wet seaweed, and he shot out a hand to steady her before she slid right off the rock, and narrowly avoided being impaled by a fishing pole as she flailed.  
  
"Careful," he warned solemnly as she struggled to regain her footing. "Slippery here." She glared at the smirk that he was obviously fighting.  
  
"I meant to do that."  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
"I did."  
  
"Yeah, I believe you," he assured her, then proceeding to climb down a sudden sharp drop in the rock pile. Freya peered over the edge of the boulder, carefully avoiding where the overhanging rocks almost touched said edge; at the bottom, the rocks were set much closer to the water, about a foot or so up from it. They could probably just fish from there. Amarant misinterpreted the reason for her hesitation.  
  
"You gonna need help getting down here?" he called.  
  
"No, I'm fine," she declared, tossing her fishing pole down and beginning to edge her way down the pile after it, blindly searching for a certain handy-dandy shelf-like protrusion she had just seen while looking down.  
  
"That drop's bigger'n you are; you aren't gonna find the shelf that way," the redhead informed her, arms crossed.  
  
"Alright." She crawled back to the top of the pile, rolled over, and began edging down on he stomach, then let go of the top to let herself fall.  
  
"Of course..." Amarant mused with a hint of a grin, "that shelf's a bit loose; you might want to avoid it altogether."  
  
His words were quite muffled by the sound of rocks bouncing off of rocks and tumbling to the ground, as well as by Freya's shriek of dismay as she, too, bounced off of the rocks and tumbled to the ground.  
  
Amarant knelt next to the pile of rocks and offered the dazed Burmecian a hand.  
  
"Did you mean to do that, too?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Uh...rat?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"I didn't think that drop'd hurt you, or I'd have said something."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Freya? You okay?"  
  
A pause. Then...  
  
"Hold on. I'm still trying to decide."  
  
Her wry smile, however, told him that she wasn't hurt. She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. She glared at him.  
  
"And stop laughing!"  
  
"I'm not laughing."  
  
"You're laughing inwardly."  
  
"No, I'm not."  
  
"Then stop smirking!"  
  
"I'm not doing that, either."  
  
"...Fine. Let's just go get fish."  
  
"Heh...there's a line you can't use just anywhere."  
  
She walked to water and sat cross-legged on the edge of the rock.  
  
"Erm..." she began as Amarant sat down a couple feet away, "what do we use for bait?  
  
And hooks, for that matter?"  
  
"...You didn't get any worms or hooks?"  
  
"...Was I supposed to?"  
  
"It's part of the fishing pole, isn't it?"  
  
She sighed. "I'll be back," she informed him, beginning to stand. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Don't worry about it. I thought you'd forget; I've got some crap."  
  
"...That's fascinating, but what are we going to use to bait these fishing lines?"  
  
He stared at her incredulously for a moment.  
  
"...Are you drunk?"  
  
"No! Why would you think that?"  
  
".Never mind." He pulled a small canister from the small bag he carried. Prying off the lid, he set it between them. "Just tie a piece of that wire onto the string and stick one of these suckers on the end."  
  
She peered into the canister, lifting an eyebrow.  
  
"I didn't know that it was a common practise to dry worms."  
  
"It is if you fish while you're travelling and haven't got time to always be digging for bait. Do you know what happens when you put a can of fresh worms in a bag that you're carrying around in the sun all the time?"  
  
"No, but I'm guessing you do."  
  
"Couldn't get the smell out. Had to burn the bag and get a new one."  
  
"Ah. Fascinating. I would have thought that it was the movement of the worm that attracted the fish. But then, I've never been a fish," she admitted, delicately plucking a worm from the canister and threading the bit of wire through it. He watched, amused.  
  
"What? You afraid of bugs or something?"  
  
"No!" she declared indignantly.  
  
"You're such a _girl,_" he commented, smirking.  
  
"Are _you_ drunk?"  
  
"What, you mean you're not?"  
  
"Not what?"  
  
"A girl."  
  
"Of course I'm...what on earth are you talking about?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
They both let the strings drop into the water, and sat in silence for a time. The late afternoon had given way to early evening, and the light was dimming, casting a purplish hue over the scene. The sun, preparing itself to set, reflected off the water in a myriad of golds and pinks and oranges.  
  
Gradually, the pile of fish between them grew as the supply of bait dwindled. 'That's four, and they're pretty big...I'd say that's enough for everyone,' Amarant reflected, mentally tallying up an estimate as to how much everyone would eat. 'Eh, get a few more to be safe.'  
  
Although he would have died the death before admitting it, he was glad now that the group had stopped for the night. He was actually quite enjoying the little fishing trip. The water at this time of day was, he reflected, nice to look at, and the spot was a pleasant one: sheltered from stronger winds, and nice and quiet. He was also, he conceded reluctantly, rather glad that Zidane had sent Freya with him. He smirked. 'Better than being sent with anyone else - she talks less.'  
  
He watched her carefully. She had taken off her helmet and set it on the rock beside her, and her hair - somewhere between white and silver, he decided - swept over her shoulders, falling to the middle of her back, stirred by a soft breeze sweeping in from over the water. His gaze lingered for a moment on her eyes. The contrast of their bright green against the white of her fur and the pale silver of her hair was startling. He smiled slightly.  
  
'She's pretty nice to look at, too, once she takes off that damn hat and stops trying to be intimidating...' He started in surprise as this thought meandered its way through his mind, and looked away immediately, staring out over the water. 'Where the hell did THAT come from?'  
  
At the sound of a soft laugh, he shot her a questioning look.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I was just waxing ridiculously poetic about the symbolism of climbing over those rocks."  
  
"...This is gonna give me a headache, isn't it?"  
  
"I don't have to tell you..."  
  
"Go ahead. I could use a good laugh."  
  
"I'll thank you not to refer to my metaphor as 'a good laugh,' Mr. Coral."  
  
He gave a wordless grunt, pulling the line from the water and baiting the fishing hook again. She shot him a sideways glance.  
  
"So, do you actually want to hear this?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really."  
  
"Alright. I was just thinking that trying to get safely from one rock to another is much like when one starts out on a new facet of life. It means leaving behind something that you know is safe, but of course, you also know you can't stay there forever."  
  
"Be pretty boring to stay on the same rock for eternity."  
  
"Exactly!  
  
"Not only that, but the tide comes in, and you get all wet."  
  
"Erm...alright. Either way, a person must move on. You can try to step on the next rock over, very lightly, testing it at first, making sure to keep most of your weight on the safe rock, but this is no way to live. Eventually, one must simply take the plunge and leap to the next rock. Sometimes it is sturdy, and you may continue on with your life. Sometimes, it isn't, it comes loose, and you fall off, landing somewhere you never meant to be. So, in essence, it's all a matter of taking a leap of faith, or clinging to the same rock for years because you know it's safe...what?"  
  
She frowned in mock-offence at the sight of her friend's shoulders shaking with laughter.  
  
"I knew this'd be good for a laugh," Amarant finally said with a sigh.  
  
"I told you it was ridiculous."  
  
"And you were right. Although, ridiculous as it is, there may be something to it."  
  
"Please tell me you aren't serious."  
  
"No, really. So many people are so bloody scared of change, the thought gives them a nosebleed."  
  
"I suppose that's true everyone at some point..."  
  
"So they let themselves cling to things that they hate, or things that'll never be able to make them happy."  
  
"Sometimes..."  
  
"And they let it make them bitter because they're missing out on life, and they don't know who to blame, because they're cheating themselves out of living. And, of course, no one ever admits that they're the one behind their problems."  
  
"Also true in some instances..." She shifted to turn back to the water, puzzled. What was making him so vocal about his thoughts on this? He continued.  
  
"So eventually, they start blaming everyone else, and start pissing on everyone."  
  
"What a lovely bit of imagery," Freya commented, wrinkling her nose. "But I think you're a bit too hard on people. Not everyone is the cause of their own unhappiness."  
  
"Maybe not, but you choose how you deal with your problems," Amarant pointed out.  
  
"It can be a very difficult thing to deal well with some things," Freya replied softly, looking down.  
  
"Yeah, it can; it can also be incredibly damn simple."  
  
"It can be difficult to know the difference."  
  
"What's to know? If there's a place to move, you move."  
  
"So, running from pain is better than remaining in a safe place?"  
  
A silence. Amarant gazed thoughtfully at the water for a moment.  
  
"They can mean doing the same thing sometimes."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Look, Crescent, there's a difference between running from pain and moving on with your life."  
  
"So, what is the difference?"  
  
"I don't know, but it's there."  
  
"I'm afraid you'll have to back that up; I'm not quite sure what you mean. I don't think you can simultaneously run away and refuse to move on."  
  
He scowled at the vague hint of mockery in her tone, the first tendrils of anger rising through him.  
  
"Alright," he declared defiantly, "let's use you as an example."  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Yeah, you."  
  
She gazed at him, eyes narrowed. Her fishing pole, forgotten, slipped into the water with a small sploosh.  
  
"How, exactly?"  
  
He unwisely ignored her expression, and less wisely still continued with a smirk, setting his own makeshift fishing rod aside, then turning to face her.  
  
"That man of yours; how long have you been looking for him?"  
  
She drew in a sharp breath, clenching her fists.  
  
"Don't bring him up..."  
  
"A long time, right? Four, five years? You spend all this time looking for a man who left you on his own; why?"  
  
"He had a reason..."  
  
"I think it's because you're afraid to move on; you're afraid of being alone."  
  
"Afraid of being alone?" she repeated incredulously. "I've been alone for these past years because I've been searching for him!"  
  
"Yeah, but even if he isn't there, you still define who you are by him."  
  
"I don't want to discuss this any longer," she choked out, hating the sound of tears in her own voice.  
  
"Tough," he shot back ruthlessly, suddenly furious. Furious with her for willingly allowing herself to be hurt, with that man for bringing her pain, and with himself for bringing it up, for deliberately going after raw nerves...and, at the same time, for caring that his words made her eyes grow dark with pain. He shook his head. "You asked. Deal with it. Now, while you're running from the pain of being alone, you're chaining yourself to a man who doesn't even remember you, a man who, for all you know, doesn't want you chained to him and never really did. Maybe you don't want to have to define who you are without him; or maybe you like having the memory of a man better than you'd like a real one around, because that way, you can have the relationship the way you want it."  
  
"You are absolutely out of your mind! How do you claim to know anything about me?!"  
  
"Oh, I don't claim to know; I'm taking a guess. But if it's so crazy, why are you so angry?"  
  
"I'm angry because what you're saying is downright insulting!"  
  
"And it's even more insulting because it struck a nerve? Hey, deny it all you want. Maybe it is all crazy; I'm no psychic or head doctor. All I know is you're afraid to move on; afraid you might fall."  
  
"Please drop it."  
  
"Why? Because it hurts?"  
  
"Because I don't think you're in any place to talk. Because I want to know what it is you're running from."  
  
"What I'm running from?" he repeated tightly with a short bark of laughter. She shivered, whether from the breeze of early evening or from the glare he had fixed her with, she was unsure. She wrapped her arms around herself and returned the gaze unblinkingly. For a moment, they were both silent. Finally, he continued. "Well, it isn't the knowledge that I've spent the last five years of my life searching for someone who can't even remember my name, let alone ever loving me. Have you ever thought," he continued, taking in her stricken expression, her eyes bright with unshed tears, with a grim satisfaction, "that maybe there was another reason he left? If he really loved you so much, why the hell didn't he take you with him?"  
  
Freya sprang to her feet with a sharp gasp, sending the last hour's worth of fishing skittering back into the water from whence it came. But of course, what mattered fish at such a moment, when one was confronted with the question that had lurked in one's mind for years? She tensed, physically fighting back tears.  
  
Taking in the mingled fury and anguish in her expression, Amarant wondered it perhaps he'd gone a bit far, and braced himself against the inevitable barrage of kicks and punches. None came. After a moment, he glanced up, a voice at the back of his mind telling him that this was probably a foolish thing to do; she might take the opportunity to go for the eyes...if she could get to them through his hair. He needn't have worried; a quick glance about him showed no sign of her.  
  
'What the hell...?'  
  
He peered about him more searchingly. Finally, he caught sight of a flash of red scrambling from rock to rock at the top of the large pile.  
  
'Huh...running away, eh, Crescent? Not the best way to make your point...'  
  
He turned indifferently back to the water, pointedly ignoring the voice at the back of his mind that whispered to him that upset people were not careful people, and that she'd had enough trouble with those jagged, wobbly rocks when she'd been calm.  
  
'Not my problem.'  
  
'But she could get hurt...'  
  
'And why should I care?'  
  
'You're the one who upset her.'  
  
This gave him a moment of pause.  
  
'And you know you're worried...'  
  
'No, I'm not.'  
  
'Oh, you know you're going to go look for her - why not just go now and save time?'  
  
'I'm not going to look for her,' he thought with an air of finality.  
  
  
  
Fifteen seconds later...  
  
"I hate you," Amarant muttered aloud to the voice at the back of his mind, hauling himself onto the top of the pile, carefully staying down to avoid hitting his head on the rock canopy, which sloped down sharply to almost meet the edge of the drop.  
  
'Aww, thanks, punkin'!' it giggled, sounding, at that moment, oddly like Eiko.  
  
"Don't make me punch you," he growled darkly.  
  
'Now, that would be rather self-destructive,' it giggled back impishly.  
  
"Oh, shut up." He crawled beneath the overhanging rocks and then stood up and glanced about. 


	2. Fate and Friendship

Part 2: Friendship and Fate  
  
  
  
Freya shook her head with a sigh of disbelief and disgust, shifting in futile attempt to keep the edge of the boulder from digging into her back. Of all the ridiculous situations! This surely could not be happening. She had not just sprained her ankle to the point of immobility slipping off of one of these bloody rocks! And the worst part...  
  
'Oh, no! I am NOT asking him for help! I can walk back on it. Hell, I'll drag myself back up that hill by my tail before I'll ask him for help.'  
  
This thought encouraging her somewhat, she gripped the side of the rock and climbed to her feet - and immediately sank back again, biting back a most undignified howl of pain. Well, she concluded, examining her left ankle again, she had been right about one thing - she hadn't sprained it to the point of immobility. She had broken it.  
  
'Oh, bloody hell...'  
  
  
  
He sighed heavily as a sharp cry from about thirty feet away reached his ears.  
  
'Dammit. Who the hell needs this?' he silently muttered, stalking angrily, though carefully, in the direction of the sound. Wouldn't it be great, he mused, if he should slip and put himself out of commission on these damned rocks, too?  
  
He came to a stop and gazed down at the young Burmecian woman leaning against a somewhat flat boulder, one leg curled beneath her, the other stretched out. He noticed immediately that she was taking especial care not to jostle or move it in any way.  
  
'Oh, great...'  
  
"Hello, Amarant," Freya greeted, attempting nonchalance through teeth gritted against a string of profanities at the perturbed state of her mind, at the pain radiating from her ankle, at Zidane's idiotic idea to stop for the night, at the entire damn situation. "Heading back, are you? D'you think we've enough fish for everyone?"  
  
"Well," he replied thoughtfully, crouching down beside her on the jagged, uneven rock, "we had, until you knocked them all back into the water."  
  
"Oh..." she said vaguely, "I suppose that was rather counterproductive, wasn't it?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing. So, why are you down there? You need help?"  
  
"Of course not!" She raised her chin, and she looked away defiantly. "I simply dropped something. I was down here to look for it. I'll get up in a moment."  
  
"Alright. Let's see you do it."  
  
"You go ahead. I'll be along behind."  
  
"I'll wait here."  
  
"That isn't necessary."  
  
"I'll wait here."  
  
"I...alright."  
  
By sheer force of will, she gripped the edge of the rock so tightly that her fingers began to lose all sensation, and hauled herself to standing position, gazing up at Amarant triumphantly. He raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Now let's see you walk."  
  
She cast him a cold glare. Drawing in a deep breath, she slowly began to shift her weight to her left foot - and immediately pitched forward with a cry as a blinding pain shot through her leg as the joint shifted against itself.  
  
Stepping forward, he caught her and slowly helped her back to a sitting position on the edge of the boulder, before kneeling in front of her to examine her ankle.  
  
"It's broken," he announced.  
  
"I know that!" she snapped. He looked up with a scowl.  
  
"Then why the hell did you try to walk on it?"  
  
"There..."  
  
"Never mind. Wait there."  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"To get our junk. Then we'll head back." This last statement he tossed over his shoulder as he clambered over the rocks. She watched him go with a sigh. 'Well, at least asking for help is a moot point...'  
  
She'd little time to dwell on this thought before it was interrupted by the angry bellow of a certain word that her mother had always taught her was horribly rude. A moment later, she watched in consternation, and, at the same time, mild amusement, as a very annoyed, rather soggy Amarant approached, gripping a water-logged travel bag in one hand, and an equally water-logged red hat in the other.  
  
"Tide's in," he growled in response to her questioning look, shoving the unoffending hat at her.  
  
"Ah. That's hardly good."  
  
"Any more brilliant observations I should hear?"  
  
"It came in awfully fast, didn't it?"  
  
He sighed.  
  
"Not all the way. If it were all the way in, we'd be sitting in a pool of water right now."  
  
"I thought so."  
  
"But it is in far enough that we can't damn well leave until it goes out again, or someone comes to get us."  
  
"Why, how far has it come in? How deep can the water possibly be by where we have to get out?"  
  
"Somewhere around the knees. But, you might wanna remember that you're not walkin' to save your life right now."  
  
"I could if I had to!"  
  
"And," he continued, ignoring this, "I think that me trying to climb over a bunch of boulders, in knee-deep water, carrying you, is a really damn stupid idea."  
  
"It would seem to be."  
  
He surveyed her coolly.  
  
"You're awfully calm about this."  
  
"Well, what will it help if I start panicking? It would just rattle us both even more."  
  
He nodded. True enough. She shivered slightly, then grimaced.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Hurts a little, is all." She gestured to her ankle.  
  
"I'll see if I've anything to help."  
  
"It's fine."  
  
She watched him closely as he rifled through his bag. Finally, she spoke again.  
  
"Erm...how long does the tide tend to stay in around here?"  
  
He shrugged, not looking up.  
  
"Damned if I know exactly. I think we should be out of here before morning, though."  
  
"Wonderful," she murmured.  
  
"Not my fault we're stuck here," he reminded her pointedly, setting his bag aside after a fruitless search.  
  
She ignored his words just as pointedly as he spoke them.  
  
"How long do you think it'll be before this - " She gestured to the surrounding rocks. " - becomes a pool of water?"  
  
He sighed.  
  
"I think it should be some time before that happens."  
  
"And what do we do when it does?"  
  
"We get the hell up there," he replied, gesturing to the juncture between the pile of rocks and the overhanging canopy.  
  
"Ah. Cozy," she commented lightly.  
  
"We've got cozy or soggy. Take your pick."  
  
"Cozy is probably healthier."  
  
"So there is a brain in there, after all."  
  
And thus saying, before she'd a chance to respond, he stooped and lifted her, surprisingly gently, with a gruff command of, "here, grab our stuff."  
  
Shoving her helmet back on her head, she gripped his bag tightly as he began to edge his way carefully up the incline to where the rock pile met the overhang. Upon reaching the top, he set her down carefully on a flat expanse of boulder, helped her position her ankle at least relatively comfortably out in front of her, then seated himself, staring unblinkingly into space, elbows propped on his knees. Freya turned to him and began to say something, then seemed to think better of it, and looked away.  
  
"What?" he demanded as he caught, from the corner of his eye, a slight movement to the left of him.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"You were going to say something; what?"  
  
"I...I just wanted to know, why did you even care?"  
  
"Care about what?"  
  
"That I'm 'wasting my time on a lost cause,'" she replied, looking away haughtily, angry colour staining her cheeks through her short fur.  
  
"Care?" he echoed, then gave a derisive snort. "I'd hardly say I care, as such, but it's just kind of confusing; you aren't typically stupid."  
  
"Thank-you," she interjected dryly. He continued, ignoring her.  
  
"It baffles me that you could be so bloody thick over one thing."  
  
"Excuse me?!"  
  
"It's true. Why does this one issue turn you into a complete idiot?"  
  
"What does it matter if it does? Even though it does not! Hell, I'm sorry I even brought this back up!"  
  
"Okay, I'll drop it, as soon as you tell me one thing."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
He smirked.  
  
"What'll you do if you find out that he's moved on, built new memories with someone else?"  
  
"That...that isn't possible."  
  
"Anything's possible."  
  
"No! It isn't!" And again, more softly. "It isn't..."  
  
"Isn't it true that no one knows exactly where he was, or what happened to him?"  
  
"Piss off," she commanded weakly, all trace of colour gone, refusing to look at him.  
  
"Well? What'll you do?"  
  
"Piss OFF!" she repeated, trying to shift away, and stopping as her ankle loudly advised against it. She flinched as the slight movement jarred the broken joint and sent a ripple of pain through her leg. Amarant observed this with a humourless laugh.  
  
"Shouldn't have brought it up again if you didn't think you could handle it, rat. You can't run anywhere this time. So? What, then? What'll you do?"  
  
She was silent a long moment before replying in a low voice that he had to strain to hear.  
  
"If that were to happen, you could assume that the day I was made aware of it would be my last day alive, and that the end of it would see me floating face-downward in a pond, or impaled on a weapon."  
  
"Isn't that a little extreme?" he asked coolly, not altogether liking the quiet desperation in her tone and eyes.  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"You're talking about writing off your whole existence if this man has moved on, and you tell me that isn't extreme?"  
  
She began to reply, but was cut off as he continued. "Even if it isn't, you'd still be running away."  
  
"So? Sometimes one gets tired of being strong, and just wants to rest."  
  
"Sure, but that doesn't mean you can. You have to deal with it until it gets better. Nothing lasts forever."  
  
"For, as with all things, this, too shall pass," she quoted softly, gazing dreamily at the water beginning to seep through the cracks between the rocks at the bottom of the tunnel. Then she shook herself out of her reverie and turned to look up at him. "And if it doesn't?"  
  
"Then you damn well deal with that. Gods know the rest of us have to."  
  
"'Life is hell, and then you die and go there?'" She suggested the short quote with a bitter laugh.  
  
"Yeah, pretty much. But you let Fate take care of the second half. The way I see it, you control everything else in your life if you really want to, but there's never a need to seek your own death, because you know that Fate has one planned out for you, about a hundred times more ridiculous and ironic than anything you could come up with."  
  
"So we're all essentially trapped in a hopeless, bitter existence until Fate decides to bring it to an even more bitter end?"  
  
"Yeah," he agreed with a smirk. "Hence the popularity of alcohol."  
  
"Ah, but that's just as much an evasion of one's problems as anything else."  
  
"No; it just sets them aside while you deal with the hangover."  
  
"Somewhat like biting your tongue to distract yourself from the pain of stubbing your toe?" she suggested mildly, leaning back on her arms.  
  
"Only a complete idiot would do that."  
  
"But downing enough alcohol to kill a small horse, and then waking up to the feeling that one's head is about to explode, is the height of intelligence."  
  
"Don't knock it 'till you've tried it."  
  
"I've tried it."  
  
"Really. I'll bet you're an amusing drunk," he commented, glad for the opportunity for a change in topic. To be sure, the matter had been left quite uncomfortably unresolved, but as long as she seemed to have forgotten it...  
  
"Not so very. Zidane tells me I just curled up under the table and went to sleep, after bursting into tears and informing nearly every denizen of the tavern that they were my 'onliest' friend."  
  
He quirked an eyebrow, chuckling slightly at the mental image. Then he blinked.  
  
"Zidane?"  
  
"Well, yes. Everyone knows that it's a very bad idea to get drunk alone."  
  
"Yeah, but how did you come to be drinking with Zidane?"  
  
"Their theatre troupe had just closed a play. I happened to be in town for the closing night. For Tantalus, it was a celebration."  
  
"And for you?"  
  
"I wanted to escape."  
  
"Did it work?"  
  
"Does it ever?" she demanded rhetorically.  
  
"No," he admitted with a dry laugh.  
  
"I take it you're no stranger to this method of escape?"  
  
"Hey, it takes a lot more to get me drunk than it would you."  
  
"You underestimate me."  
  
"No, you underestimate me."  
  
"Oh, come now, how much can one man possibly drink?"  
  
"However much, triple it, and I can down it without so much as a headache the next morning."  
  
"That's quite a claim. I've known some awfully heavy drinkers."  
  
"It isn't a matter of how much you can get down; it's a matter of how you handle it once it's there."  
  
"What is?"  
  
"Uh..."  
  
"I see," she said dryly. "I don't understand why it's such a wonderful thing to be able to handle a lot of alcohol without getting tipsy."  
  
"You only say that because you see double after a thimble-full," he replied with a smirk.  
  
"Not true. I can actually drink quite a lot without it showing. It just seems odd that, when most people drink for the sole purpose of getting drunk, being able to do so on a small amount is seen as a shameful sort of weakness."  
  
"Who says it's seen as weakness?"  
  
"Well, think about it; no one likes to admit a low drinking capacity. A group of men in a tavern with ruthlessly make fun of the first one of them to get drunk. The one to pass out FIRST in a drinking contest is the loser. Why is that?"  
  
He shrugged, noting with a certain satisfaction that the sick, livid expression had left her eyes. And she was smiling again.  
  
"I don't know, rat. I don't make the damn rules."  
  
"And for that matter, why is it always men? You never see a woman base her worth as a person on how much she can drink."  
  
"Now, I KNOW that isn't true. I've been drinking with the living contradiction to that statement, and her name is Lani."  
  
Freya blinked for a moment.  
  
"Well, nearly always men, at any rate."  
  
"I doubt that. Haven't you ever been involved in a drinking contest?"  
  
"Only once. The same Tantalus cast party. A contest between Baku, Marcus, Cinna, and myself."  
  
A silence.  
  
"So...who won?"  
  
"Do you mean, who passed out first, or who passed out last?"  
  
"Both."  
  
"Cinna was gone first, and I've no idea who lasted the longest. I was long since asleep beneath the table by that time. I should ask Zidane sometime," she finished reflectively. Then she gazed sideways at him curiously. "So, are you going to tell me about one of your drunken adventures?"  
  
"Uh...what?"  
  
"Oh, come now. Are you telling me that you've never been drunk?"  
  
"It...takes a lot to get me drunk. I usually know when to quit."  
  
"Ah!" She was on the loophole in an instant. "Usually! So, what of one of the exceptions?"  
  
"Forget it," he told her firmly, "'cause no way in hell am I tellin' you."  
  
"We'll be here for hours," she reminded him with a wicked smile, more than a little intrigued by this refusal. "I'm sure I'll find some way to pick it out of you."  
  
"I doubt it."  
  
"That sounds like a challenge."  
  
"Take it as you like."  
  
"Alright."  
  
  
  
And so, having chosen to take it for a challenge, she spent the better portion of a most enjoyable hour trying every tactic of reasoning and trickery to wheedle the story out of him...and failing utterly.  
  
"Fine, fine," she laughed, shaking her head, "you win. I won't ask again."  
  
"Better not," he mock-growled, trying to keep a hint of laughter from his own voice. From here, they lapsed into a long silence, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. In the meantime, the pleasant cool of earlier had tapered off into a damp sort of cold, with its smell of wet sand and rock hanging thickly in the air, that chilled right through to the bone. She shivered. He looked up.  
  
"Cold?"  
  
"No," she replied, shivering again. With an irritated grumble, he slid over on the rock and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. A noise of protest died on her lips as, nearly immediately, the chill began to recede. He fought the urge to pull back as she snuggled closer, leaning against his shoulder. Well. Alright. It made more sense than each sitting on opposite ends of the rock, trying to keep warm on their own.  
  
He sighed.  
  
"Your ankle okay?"  
  
She murmured something that might have been a response, had she opened her mouth while saying it, and relaxed more completely against him.  
  
"I'll take that to mean 'yes,'" he announced sardonically. A repetition of her last comment greeted him. He shook his head as her breathing grew deep and regular. At least one of them would get some sleep.  
  
  
  
"Amarant..."  
  
He started as the sound pierced through the silence of the cave and through the veil of semi-consciousness, and shook himself from his disoriented state.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you need to sleep?"  
  
He shifted to gaze uncomprehendingly down at Freya.  
  
"What?"  
  
She sighed impatiently.  
  
"Sleep. Do you want to sleep?"  
  
"Huh? Oh...naw, s'fine."  
  
"It won't be 'fine' tomorrow when you're too tired to walk in a straight line."  
  
A long silence.  
  
"The tide down yet?"  
  
"I don't know!" she returned. "Oddly enough, I haven't been down to look."  
  
"Oh...right."  
  
Lifting her head from his shoulder, she peered at him through the nearly pitch-blackness surrounding them.  
  
"You really need to rest."  
  
"If I'm asleep, who makes sure you don't go sneaking off to drown yourself or something?"  
  
He hadn't, in all honesty, meant to say it; it had seemed to say itself. He prepared himself for another tirade. None came.  
  
  
  
She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again, following his outline, barely visible through the darkness, with her gaze. In all fairness, she had asked for this. Partly to delay answering, she stretched uncomfortably, attempting to rid herself of the pins-and-needles accumulated after a long time in the same awkward position, and stopped abruptly as another bolt of pain arced upward from her ankle. She ignored it. Not important. An apology had to be given for words spoken piteously in a moment of anger and weakness...with perhaps more than the slightest intent to shock. She gazed down at her hands, trying to buy a little time. When the silence grew awkward, however, and she heard him shift against the rock next to her and sigh impatiently, she began hesitantly.  
  
"What I said earlier... It...it was a very unfair thing to say."  
  
No response.  
  
"Amarant?"  
  
"What do you want to hear? You're right. It was. Selfish, too."  
  
"I...know."  
  
"And cowardly, and weak, and-"  
  
"Enough! I understand that. The question is, what can I do? I can't un- say it."  
  
"Say you didn't mean it," he suggested coolly. She sighed.  
  
"My back-pedalling with a lie will help? How? What's to say I won't do it anyway?"  
  
"You won't if you give me your word that you won't."  
  
She stared up at him incredulously.  
  
"Erm...what?"  
  
"You heard me. I want your word that you won't kill yourself over this man."  
  
She fell silent, turning away to peer unseeingly into the darkness. For a long moment, she simply sat that way, breathing deeply, the surrounding smells of damp rock and earth somehow calming. This brief period of peace was shattered as a large hand clamped down on her shoulder, startling her. Still looking away, she sighed wearily.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Well what?"  
  
"Swear."  
  
"Of course I wouldn't really consider it!"  
  
"I don't know that."  
  
"Can't you just drop it?"  
  
"I'll drop it when you swear that you aren't gonna do anything stupid."  
  
"Alright. I swear."  
  
"You swear what?"  
  
"That I won't resort to ending my own life."  
  
"Now say it all."  
  
She rolled her eyes impatiently, then pivoted to gaze squarely at him.  
  
"I give you my word that I won't resort to ending my life."  
  
The silence that followed was uncomfortable, but no longer unbearably stifling. Finally...  
  
"Good. Now, go back to sleep."  
  
"I though you were going to sleep now."  
  
"I never said that."  
  
"Well, I did. You need to sleep."  
  
"I've gone for a helluva lot longer than one night without sleep."  
  
"Well, so have I!"  
  
"Yeah, but you need it a lot worse than I do right now."  
  
"No, I don't; I just slept, and I don't think I'll be able to again."  
  
"What? You'll have to repeat that; I couldn't understand it around that yawn."  
  
"Oh, leave me alone!" she huffed, shifting away, then drawing in a sharp breath as her foot bounced against the boulder. "...Alright, that was foolish to even try. Well, you might as well sleep; I really doubt I'll be able to again tonight."  
  
"Try anyway," he suggested mildly, a hint of a smile in his voice.  
  
"It's useless!" she protested, stifling another yawn.  
  
"Uh...right. Just...do it, would you?"  
  
"Only if you sleep, too," she told him smugly.  
  
"I can't sleep sitting up with you leaning on me," he explained patiently. She shrugged.  
  
"So, let's move further back to the wall."  
  
"Do you think you can get back there without help?"  
  
"Of course!" she replied, slowly and carefully turning and crawling back over the flat expanse of rock. With a sigh, he turned and followed. When both had found a likely-looking place against the wall of the cave, he wrapped his arm around her again, and she snuggled comfortably against his shoulder. Dismissing the sudden rush of heat to his face as a sudden change in temperature brought on by shared body heat, he leaned against the cool stone and closed his eyes.  
  
  
  
"So...Zidane," Steiner began, glaring back at a particularly wobbly rock, stopping for a moment to regain his balance after what had almost become an impromptu trip for him as a result of that same rock, "why exactly are we looking for them here if you sent them to the pond?"  
  
"Just a hunch," Zidane replied absently, lifting his tail out of harm's way as the knight landed beside him on a sturdier boulder and reflecting that Amarant never took advice, unless it was what he had planned to do anyway, and the shore was the only other place where fish had any chance of residing. "Careful, man. It's slippery. The tide just went out."  
  
Steiner glared.  
  
"Yes, I had noticed," he replied dryly. Zidane held up his hands, as though washing them of the entire matter.  
  
"Hey, it's not my fault you decided to wear, like, eighty-seven pounds of armour to a rock-shore."  
  
"I did not realize we would find ourselves on a rock-shore," Steiner shot back, a clinking sound ringing through the still, cool morning air as he crossed his arms. "What could have possibly kept them away from the camp for so long?" he mused, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead as he gazed down at the waves gently lapping against the base of the rock below with a faint repeated splash.  
  
Zidane smirked.  
  
"Hey, like I said earlier, I think we both know what kept them away."  
  
"And, as I said earlier, I think you are mad! There is no more likelihood of those two-"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I heard it the first time. Well, we'll just see, now won't we? Prepare to lose 200 gil," the youth continued under his breath as he turned away from the older man and continued over the pile of rocks.  
  
  
  
"Hey, I was right! Pay up, Rusty!"  
  
Amarant slowly opened one eye to scowl most forbiddingly at the source of what was, in the opinion of him and his stiff, aching joints, a quite insanely cheerful exclamation. And, from the sound of the painful groan emitted by his impromptu rat-human blanket, Freya approved of the young man's exaggerated cheerfulness little more than he did. Steiner, too, seemed not to share Zidane's high spirits as he grumblingly withdrew 200 gil and reluctantly dropped it into the youth's outstretched hand. Gloating rather obnoxiously over his prize, Zidane dropped the money into his own coin purse, then turned to gaze in puzzlement at his friends.  
  
"So, what happened to you two, anyway?"  
  
"We got caught by the tide," Freya replied, stretching painfully and shaking her head to clear it of the fog that seemed to have insinuated itself before her eyes. Zidane raised an eyebrow. 'Oh, yeah, I won that bet hands-down!'  
  
"How did you manage to lose track of time like that?"  
  
Steiner's eyebrow took a cue from Zidane's and, similarly, disappeared into his hairline.  
  
'What can I say? When the impudent little monkey is right, he's right.'  
  
Amarant uttered an irritated growl, making a mental note to later bash the heads of these two idiots together until they stopped exchanging those damned knowing grins.  
  
"Neither of us knew what time the tide comes in around here. By the time we thought of leaving, it had begun to come in."  
  
"So...why didn't you just leave when it started rising?"  
  
"Couldn't damn well go anywhere, with her broken ankle."  
  
"Hah!" Steiner barked jubilantly. "Perhaps, Zidane, it is you who should pay up! It seems that I was right in my guess that one or the other would sustain injuries before the night was through!"  
  
"Oh, fine," Zidane sighed, dropping the newly acquired 200 gil back into Steiner's glove.  
  
"And the other 200," the man prompted firmly. His cheerfulness suddenly and irrefutably evaporated, Zidane delved back into his coin pouch to fish out another 200 gil.  
  
"There!" he huffed. "Ya happy?"  
  
"Quite," Steiner assured him smugly.  
  
"Well," Zidane sighed, "let's get going before the others send a search party out to look for the search party."  
  
"Quite agreed, Zidane. I think Amarant will agree that we've spent plenty enough time on these rocks to last for a good long while."  
  
Amarant shook his head.  
  
"We've gotta get that healed," he declared, gesturing to her ankle. "I think pain's making you delirious. That's about the most cheesy thing I've ever heard you say...not even barring your attempt at poetic symbolism."  
  
"Uh...what?" Zidane asked, exchanging a bemused glance with Steiner as Freya blushed slightly and looked away with a sheepish smile.  
  
"Never mind; it's nothing," Amarant assured him, smirking. "Let's just get out of here."  
  
With that, he stood and lifted her gently.  
  
"You all right?" he murmured to her. She nodded in reply with a grateful smile.  
  
"Good."  
  
Then he started down the rocky incline toward the sunlight streaming in from the end of the overhanging canopy.  
  
Zidane watched with a hand on his chin. Perhaps he would find himself entitled to his money back, after all...  
  
  
  
Ending Notes: [Sigh] Finally finished! I don't think I've ever had such a hard time finishing a piece before. Man, this turned out waaaaaaay longer than I either planned or wanted.  
  
Oh, and to all those of you who thought, from the summary, that this would be a lemon, for shame! As if sweet, innocent little Rhianwen would ever write a lemon! Never! Not even on a whim and a dare (hint-hint; if you read it, I'll give you a cookie - and not that kind, Bezo! [Ahem] Anyway...)  
  
I'd also like to say that I know there was a lot of crap in this; I also think there was a lot in it that made it worth reading, and I hope you agree. If you don't, though, feel free to review and tell me so.  
  
Oh, feel free to tell me if you liked it, too. :o) 


End file.
